Once Bitten
by PenguinsWillReignSupreme
Summary: He loves her. He swore. He promised. So why is she only a guest at his wedding? Molly doesn't understand. Teddy/Molly II


_A/N: I own nothing that you recognise._

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**Once Bitten**

It swirls. It twirls. There's no end to it.

It rolls. It rolls until it falls over the edge, an echo of a dove's call floating afterwards.

It is love: bottled and corked and perfectly intact until you venture into its mist. The lilac cloud fogs around you, shrouds you. You choke. You cough. You fight. Then you succumb. You relax and let it embrace you, caress you, infect you.

Molly glances at the bottom of the bottle. An old stash of the potions that her uncle's shop stocked, once upon a time, surrounds her and she stares with wide blue eyes as the smog inside hypnotises her into a melancholic yearning for the power inside it. The wax around the stopper has melted and mangled and no matter how much she scrapes with darkened fingernails, she cannot undo it. Glancing around, she ascertains that she is most certainly alone and drops the glass to the ground.

It smashes with a heroic clatter of cymbals and she watches the heart shaped vial rock back and forth as the purple smoke seeps upwards. It is like a child, a child full of intrigue and need. It sweeps and darts and dives and washes itself all around her. She inhales the overwhelming scent of jasmine and her hands grapple at the cloud. She needs it. She must have it. She must have him.

A slow, dripping sensation seeps under her toes and opening her tightly closed eyes, she stares down through the clearing haze to see the pale rose petal liquid that she had so desired washing under her feet.

Like a rabid dog, she dives to the floor and scrapes and pulls and scoops at it. Her mouth is open and the smoke captures her and makes her eyes ache with the sickening desire that this potion, this _poison_, inflicts on her. Her tongue reaches out, licking around her darkened lips, and she _wants it_. She wants it almost as much as she wants him. She needs it. She needs him. She needs something. Anything.

But not anyone.

She needs Ted. Victoire's Ted. Her Ted.

Molly's Ted.

Mol's Ted.

Molted.

Moulted.

Moulting.

Dying.

Dead.

She feels dead. Dead inside. Dead outside. Her hands crack under the heaviness of the torture in her hands and with a scream, she drops to the floor. Manic, mad, insane, raving, she scrapes her hands over the stone tiles. The gloop, the mess, the poison sticks to her hands like glue and she rubs them harder and harder. It won't come off. It won't leave. It will never leave. It is him. He is stuck to her. She can't shake him off. She can't wipe him away.

He swore.

He promised.

He gave her his _word _as he trailed kisses down her neckline, down her shoulder, down her arm, down to the tip of every finger. He'd leant over her. He'd helped her pull off every item of clothing they were wearing. He'd told her it would happen.

He told her he loved her.

_He told _her _he loved her, too_.

That's what the rational part in her says. Snide. Cruel. Biting. Bitten. Infected.

"Molly."

Her head snaps up like the flog of a whip and he is there. He is looking down at her, her hands scraped and bleeding from the floor, her hair piled atop her head in a nest that is unpinning itself slowly. His dress robes swish around his feet as he bends down at her side and hauls her up. She slumps against him. He has come. He loves her.

She collides with something hard and Teddy's hands reach down to her hips. She glances down then leans forward, her lips crashing against his and he leans in to her. Her head bashes against the cellar wall but she barely feels it as she pulls him nearer to her. One of the crates surrounding them crashes to the ground as he goes to rest one hand on them and they jump apart. Their breathing is deep and they can't break the eye contact.

"You need to get over this," he mutters, wiping his hands on his robes and then across his mouth. She stares blankly. "I'm married." He waves a hand at her, brandishing the golden band that adorns his left ring finger. "You need to get over this sick obsession -" he continues, his smile sly as he watches her stare at him like an infant who does not understand.

"What's going on?"

Teddy turns and sees Molly's sister walking swiftly towards them. He wipes his hands down his robes again and shoots the older sibling a contemptuous look as Lucy leans over her and sighs at her grazed hands.

"Sweetheart -" she begins, stroking a hand down her sister's hair. She turns to Teddy who stumbles over his lie for a moment.

"I-I found her down here covered in that stuff," he points to the goo that covers a whole segment of the floor. "It looks like a love potion. One of George's old ones. You know what she's like." Lucy nods silently and slips off her shawl, tearing it in two and wiping her sister's hands down. The mess comes off with the blood that Molly is barely aware that she has shed.

"You'd best get back. You can't have a reception without the groom," Lucy advises, pulling on Molly's arm in a failed attempt at getting her to stand. "Molly."

"I'll take her," Teddy offers, lifting the thin redhead into his arms before the younger girl can argue. He pulls her tight to his chest so her head lolls onto his shoulder and he marches up the stairs. As they pass guest after guest inside the house, he smiles and takes their congratulations on board. He pushes the door to the first bedroom he finds open and deposits Molly on the bed. She stares at him with the same doleful expression that she gave him earlier and he leans over.

His hand darts over her hair, unpinning it from its bun, and it falls around her. He leans closer to arrange it in a neat spray around her pale face and bends down as if to pick something up. His mouth is inches from her ear and with a wry smile, he lets his warm breath collect on her cheek. She shivers. The footsteps of Lucy and her mother get closer and he makes his move. His lips are soft on the edge of her cheek and they linger there. Her eyes flutter shut and she arches a little, turning into him as he whispers, "I love you." Her breath hitches and she turns her head to try and meet his lips but he has already stood up.

She can feel his smile radiating from him as he passes Lucy and Audrey on his way out. As they approach to fuss and fix her, she cannot take her eyes off the spot he disappeared from. She lets them douse her hands in the rust coloured potion that stings to high heaven. She lets them coddle and fuss over her. She lets them murmur to each other about who will keep an eye on her for the rest of the night.

She doesn't care.

He loves her.

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_A/N: Thoughts on the ship? Story? Writing? I really love this ship so anything you can say would be brilliant _


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